A Study in Chaos
by The Island Hopper
Summary: When a new case brings Lucky back to Toontown, there's only one cop who can help him - his former partner. Of course, that's if Lucky doesn't kill him first. Lucky/Bonkers friendship.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:** Just a fun little story that will be updated periodically whenever the muse strikes me. Lucky and Miranda are both to be featured in this story. Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 1 **

"I'm thinking a dusky orange this time, with just a hint of burnt sienna to highlight my cheekbones and a twinge of persimmon to offset my irises, perhaps rounded out into a smooth shade of gamboge beneath my chin. What do you think? Too rock 'n roll?" Bonkers asked, studying the color wheel in front of him carefully. He rubbed his chin. "Maybe just tennè on the cheekbones. Burnt sienna might give the impression that I'm an insomniac."

Marilyn Piquel shook her head knowingly and dug out a large pen from the bottom drawer of her mobile ink-and-pen cart. "You know, the classics never go out of style, Bonkers."

He considered carefully for a moment and then declared, "You're right. Good old fashioned orange it is!"

That settled, Marilyn grabbed a bottle of orange animating ink and began mixing it carefully it in the tray before her. It seemed they had that same conversation each time Bonkers came in for a touch-up, or when he came in for a repair after running afoul of the kind of trouble only an animator could fix. While humans went to doctors for medical attention, toons needed animators to cure what ailed them. Unbeknownst to most humans, toons could and did get injured from time to time; if a toon knew a blow was coming, they could prepare themselves for it and thus remain unharmed. However, if someone took a toon by surprise, they were as susceptible to injury as any human. That was why on screen, anvils could fall and safes could be thrown at toons and they were no worse for the wear – but if those things happened when a toon wasn't expecting it, or when it was completely unscripted, it could spell disaster. Luckily for animators like Marilyn, this meant job security.

Now in the latter portion of her mid-twenties, Marilyn had followed her passion for cartoons to animation school. She dreamed of someday animating her own characters and shows that would be watched by little boys and girls as eager as she had been for animated entertainment, but had quickly found upon graduation that the job market for animators was a tough one, and thus had taken a part-time job with the Hollywood division of the LAPD as an animator technician. Now that the Toon Division was comprised of at least a few dozen toon officers, she had a steady stream of clients who were always in need of a repair job after particularly rough cases, or less commonly, for re-inking sessions. Toons needed a complete re-inking every few years or so, to keep them from looking faded and washed out; poorer toons, down on their luck, sometimes found it difficult to pay for this and thus there was a reason they were called "washed-up": they often looked as though the color had started to wash right out of them.

As the bright orange color pooled in the bottom of the tray, Marilyn listened cheerfully as Bonkers continued to excitedly explain the reason for that day's session.

"It makes perfect sense now!" Bonkers exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air in his excitement. "All of the required overtime, all of the cases I've wrapped up without a word of thanks from Grating – he was _preparing _me for this promotion! Why, I was half of the _original _Toon Division! Didja know that, Marilyn?"

"Sure. My dad was the other half, remember?" Marilyn answered, giving the toon across from her a measured grin.

"Of course I remember!" Bonkers burst. "I remember when you were just a pint-sized tot in your mama's sweaters. And just look at you now! All grown up and workin' for the thin blue line, just like your Daddy!"

"If not exclusively," she said with a shy smile. Marilyn was still trying her best to break into animation – _real, actual _animation, she always told herself – but until her big break came, her current job certainly had its perks…like getting to hang out with certain favorite cartoon stars of her childhood.

"I've been with the force for over fifteen years!" Bonkers had continued to rally as if speaking to an invisible audience, standing on the small stool reserved for toons needing inking. "Fifteen years of busting hardened criminals, breaking up crime syndicates, risking life, limb and tail, rolling with the big boys in blue!"

"I don't think it's been _quite _like that," a lazy voice called from the doorway. Marilyn and Bonkers turned to see Barney Klyser, Bonkers' partner for the past year, standing apathetically in the doorway, his wide girth taking up the bulk of it. He munched languidly on a donut. "Far as I can tell, it's mostly been cats up trees and jaywalkers."

"That jaywalker was _obviously _on his way to commit a _major _crime, if the length of his stride was any indication," Bonkers retorted, folding his arms in front of him haughtily. "You can tell a lot about the criminal element by the pace of their perambulation."

"Perambulation, eh? Thank goodness he wasn't jogging then, or he'd been brought up on murder charges," Barney drawled, shoving the other half of the doughnut into his mouth and chewing noisily. He wiped his hands on the vast expanse of stomach in front of him. "Getting re-inked for the promotion announcement this afternoon, hm partner?"

"A toon needs to look his best," Bonkers said proudly, rolling up his sleeve and holding out an arm towards Marilyn, who was readying her inking pen. "A little touch-up here and there, every now and then, once in a blue moon, to keep the colors bright and the gentleman in sporting shape is all, Barney. Humans could learn a thing or two from us toons, you know."

"Right. I know I always feel better after I've been slathered in orange ink," Barney said sarcastically as he stretched his hands upwards, still groggy from his afternoon nap in their office. He yawned, scratching his sides. "Although, if you want _my _opinion, you're gussying up for a whole lotta nothin', partner. Grating'll never promote a toon to lieutenant, even if it is just the Toon Division."

"Hey, hey! I don't like your tone, mister man!" Bonkers scolded, bounding over to Barney and sticking a disapproving index finger into his chest. "The Toon Division is an _integral _part of the Hollywood PD! Grating said so himself!"

"He said it's an _irritating _part, and I have to say that most days I agree with him," Barney retorted, swatting Bonkers' hand away. "If toons could just behave themselves and not cause so much ever-lovin' trouble in this town, this department wouldn't be necessary and you wouldn't have a job – and that goes for you, too, Miss Pickle," he said as he pointed at Marilyn, who scowled. "Toon cops are more trouble than they're worth."

"Then why do you even _work _for the Toon Division?" Marilyn asked sharply with an icy look on her face.

"Because it's the easiest department to work for," Barney answered with a shrug, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. _"Anyone_ can get promoted in this place."

Bonkers tsked. "Well, that's where you're wrong. Not just _anyone _gets promoted around here, you know. My stapler has never been promoted. Neither has my trashcan. And neither have I. Doesn't have anything to do with the _caliber _of the officer necessarily – of course it doesn't – it's just…you have to _wait _for the right position to open up. It has to fit, like a really old shoe you've had for a long time. Know what I mean?"

"Look, all I know is that I've spent the last ten years sitting on my butt munching donuts and still managed a promotion to detective and even sergeant a few years ago. Give me another few years and I'll be captain!"

"Barney? You forgot lieutenant," Bonkers whispered helpfully into his partner's ear as he perched on Barney's massive shoulder. "See, the police ranks go officer, detective, sergeant, lieutenant_, then_ captain!"

"Well what on earth do you think today's promotion hearing is all about? You don't really think it'll be _you, _do you?" Barney grabbed Bonkers by his collar and set him gently on the floor.

Bonkers' face fell slightly but he tried to mask it with a petulant glare. "And why wouldn't it be?"

Barney sighed and sank down onto one knee, no mean feat for a man of his size. He put a sympathetic hand on Bonker's shoulder. "Look, Bonkers, you – well, I don't know about a _good _cop, but you – well, you got a lot of _heart. _A lot of…_drive_. And I know you only want to keep this town safe, for toons _and _humans. And hey, you've been around since the _beginning, _right? Back when it was just you and that Pickle guy – "

"Pi_quel," _Marilyn piped up in a cross voice.

" – but look kid, the guy Grating picks today is going to be in charge of the whole Toon Division. Every single last officer in this department is going to report to him. And the only guy who's _above _the new boss is gonna be Grating. So the guy Grating picks – well, it's about more than just _wanting _to be a good cop, or _trying _to be. The guy he picks has to be…reliable. Steady. Dependable. And Grating has to _like _working with the guy he picks, and you and Grating…well, you aren't exactly his favorite guy in the department. And, not to mention, you're still just an _officer. _A promotion from an officer to lieutenant is...well, it's a big leap, usually only for guys who have busted a huge case or something." Barney sighed. "And if it weren't for the punishment and temporary demotion stemming from being caught sleeping on the job, you and I wouldn't even be _working _together," he reminded himself with an annoyed look on his face.

"You mean…you don't think I'm going to get it?" Bonkers asked softly, wringing his hat in his hands with huge tears brimming in his eyes dramatically. He threw himself on his partner, sobbing at the top of his lungs. "Say it ain't _so, _Barn! I can take a hundred anvils to the head, a thousand safes to my big toe, but this promotion means more to me than all the play or pay contracts in the world!" His sobbing stopped momentarily. "How'm I doing? Heart-wrenching enough?"

"Eh…yeah," Barney whispered. "But look kid, you're still not going to get it."

Bonkers stood up to his full height (which still wasn't particularly full, or particularly high) and slammed his hat back down on his head, cocking it at an angle. "Bonkers D. Bobcat has overcome plenty of obstacles in his lifetime. Being unemployed. Being homeless. Not having enough fingers to wear fancy gloves. But here I am – gainfully employed and locked into a lease at least through June. And the fancy glove shop down the street from that _other _fancy glove shop sells customized gloves. Smashing down barriers, destroying the walls of injustice, a trailblazer through and through – that's _me!" _

"Well, the smashing and destroying sounds about right," Barney said as he stood back up and turned to leave. "But you forgot the part about police work being a quagmire of bureaucracy and rank. Good luck, Bonkers. Just don't get your hopes up too high, all right?"

"Hmph!" Bonkers muttered, slamming the door after Barney had sauntered away. "What my dear sweet partner doesn't seem to _realize _is that _real _police work is the _antithesis _of a quagmire! It is a _well maintained freeway! _A freeway of _justice!" _After this outburst, Bonkers stood for a moment, looking at the door. "Right?" he asked weakly with an uncertain shrug.

"Don't listen to him, Bonkers," Marilyn said encouragingly from behind him. "The fact that you were the first toon cop in history has to count for something, doesn't it? The Toon Division is full of toon officers now, and that's all thanks to you."

"Sure! They all look up to me!" he said as he sat back down on the stool, trying his best to appear upbeat. "I'm a hero, a pioneer, an iconoclast! Why, I'm – I'm – I'm…I'm still just an officer," Bonkers broke down, laying his head on the table in front of Marilyn. She patted his head kindheartedly. "Not so much as a measly promotion to detective in all the time I've been here. Surely I deserve at least that?"

"Hey, look, they need a toon who can pound the pavement, right? They need guys who aren't afraid to really get out there and get things done. All those guys – like Barney – who just sit in their offices answering phones all day aren't doing the kind of police work _you're _doing. They aren't out there getting their hands dirty."

"But I hate dirty hands," Bonkers protested weakly, looking at his pristine white gloves. "Do you have any idea how long it takes to get dirt out of white gloves from the fancy glove shop?"

Marilyn laughed softly. "Your time is going to come, Bonkers. And in the mean time, no matter what Grating or Barney says, you've done a lot of good for a lot of people, humans and toons alike. That's what really matters in the end. Not rank. Not pay grade. It's making this city safer for the people who live here – _that's _what's important."

"You're right. But when you've seen as many cops promoted over you as I have, well…" he trailed off, not looking her in the eye. "Guess how many partners I've had. Just guess."

"Mmm…seven."

"Nope."

"Ten."

"Not even close."

"Uh…surely not over twenty?"

"Thirty four," Bonkers answered with a sigh. "Thirty four partners."

Marilyn raised an eyebrow. "How is that even possible?"

He shrugged again. "Some got promoted. Some requested a different partner – though I can't for the life of me imagine why – some quit, some transferred. Your dad and Miranda were the only partners I've ever had that made me feel like I was part of a team. Like we were out there doing some real good in this city."

"And the others?" Marilyn asked as she began to ink Bonkers' arm.

His fists clenched slightly as he mimicked the voices of his past partners. "'Just stay put in the car, kid, I'll handle this'…'Let me handle this one, partner, you stay here…'What would a toon know about crimes being committed by toons?'…'Hey Bonkers, how about you stay here and _do nothing because you're a toon, _and I'll go out and bust the criminals _because I'm a human and only humans are real cops – '" _Bonkers stopped abruptly and looked over at Marilyn, who was giving him a strange look. He laughed nervously, unclenching his fists. "I might have made that last one up."

"I can see how that would get a little old. Why didn't they ever just pair you up with another toon officer?"

"Thought we'd never get the job done. Thought we'd just be goofy all day. And as much as I love Goofy, there are certain things that are just more important. But not after today. _Today _Bonkers D. Bobcat enters the ranks of the law enforcement elite, to claim his due! To show the world what toon cops are _really capable of!" _he proclaimed heroically, once again on his feet. Marilyn clamped her hand over his shoulders and shoved him back down onto the stool.

"Not until you're looking your best, officer," she said with a warm smile as she got back to work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The Toon Division was, it hardly need be said, an amalgamation of three principle ingredients: chaos, cacophony and coffee. When the Toon Division had started in a tiny corner of the Hollywood offices of the LAPD, toons – suspects, criminals, or merely those lodging complaints against the first two – were all brought to the same place until the booking process began. Whereas other departments enjoyed separate areas for each of the top brass, the officers, and the suspects, the Toon Division did all of their business on one floor, meaning that at any one time there were approximately three million things going on in the same space at the same time. The officers had gotten used to it, and those who hadn't ever worked anywhere other than the Toon Division never knew any other way. In such a situation, it seemed perfectly reasonable that a toon suspected of, say, jewelry theft sat three feet away from another toon dripping in diamonds who had stopped in to lodge an unrelated complaint. That was normally where the cacophony came in; a scene would erupt, and then coffee – the great equalizer – would be given as a peace offering.

Needless to say, the third principle ingredient – chaos – was normal. Fortunately, chaos was often the default setting for toons, and no offense was ever taken.

Bonkers bounced along happily through the small aisles of the department, flanked by cubicles and the whirring of computers, printers, and the melodramatic sounds coming from a mix tape a heartbroken, newly-single young officer had deigned appropriate for workplace listening. None of that mattered, however; whistling a happy tune, Bonkers made his way to Grating's office and entered unceremoniously, plopping down in one of the tattered chairs in front of the desk, putting his feet up and stretching.

"Sure is a _beautiful _day, isn't it Cap?" Bonkers sighed to Grating, now Captain, who said scowling behind his desk.

"I haven't worked in an office with a window since 1978," he answered gruffly. "So how would I know? And get your feet off my desk."

"Sure thing, Cap." Bonkers put his chin on his hands, leaning on Grating's desk. "Oh, the birds are singing, the breeze is whispering through the leaves, even the carjackers on the corner seemed to be in a festive mood when they hauled that little old lady out of her car and politely told her to 'Get the hell out, ma'am.' I tell ya, Cap, such days are one in a million!"

Barney burst through the door, looking slightly sweatier and more unkempt than usual, if such a thing was possible. "Sorry I'm late, Captain – there was a line at Happy Burrito and they didn't want to take my two-for-one coupon, and I – "

"It's fine, Klyser. Sit down, both of you." Grating ruffled some papers on his desk, clearing his voice in a self-important manner. "You're both here because you're being considered for the head of the Toon Division, a position that carries with it the rank of lieutenant. It would be a big promotion for either of you. You're both…how should I put it…_unique _officers who know this department like the back of your hand – "

"Even _better _than that!" Bonkers interrupted. "I can even tell you where the cleaning lady keeps her secret stash of scotch – "

"_Enough_, Bobcat. Now, these decisions are never easy. Bobcat, you've been here for over fifteen years and have been…_diligent _in your duties which mostly seem to include irritating me and accidentally freeing convicted criminals because you left the cells unlocked – "

"Thanks, Cap. That means a lot," Bonkers said, wiping a tear from his eye.

" – and Klyser, you've been relentless in your pursuit of…well, not criminals, but…but good deals on burritos for the whole department, and dammit, that has to count for something, doesn't it?"

"Sure, let's go with that," Barney countered with a shrug.

"Therefore, I want to congratulate – "

"Oh _thanks _Captain Grating!" Bonkers cried, launching himself across the desk and wrapping himself around Grating's head in a bearhug. "You won't regret it! I'll be the _best _department head in the _history _of department heads, if anyone's keeping track of that! Have they? Is there a _History of Department Heads Through the Ages _down in the library, Cap?"

"Get _off _me, Bobcat!" Grating bellowed, shoving Bonkers back down into the chair across from him. "You didn't let me finish! I'm promoting _Klyser, _not you!"

"Wh-What?" Bonkers stammered, tears beginning to brim in his eyes. "You-You mean I didn't get it? I'm…I'm still just an officer?"

"That's right!" Grating roared across the desk. He let out a slow breath and turned to Klyser. "Congratulations Klyser, you start immediately. Get your things from the basement and bring them up here. You've got a helluva road ahead of you."

...

* * *

...

Fifteen minutes later and slightly more resigned to his fate, Bonkers watched Barney pack up his things in the office with a dreary expression, feeling as though he might melt into a puddle of anthropomorphized anguish at any moment.

"Maybe I'm just not cut out to be a cop," Bonkers sighed slowly, his cheek cradled in his palm as he rolled a pencil across his desk absent-mindedly. "Maybe there's something else _out there – " _here he gestured vaguely to a world outside of the station, " – that I'm _meant _to be doing instead!"

"We all got find a niche somewhere," Barney replied in a disinterested tone as he set an empty box on top of his desk and began throwing his office supplies into it. "And hey, knowing what you're _not _good at is half the battle, right?"

"But I always thought that _this _is where I belonged!" Bonkers declared, hopping up on his desk. "Here, where all the action is!"

Barney threw him a flat look. "We're in a dark, dingy _basement _full of spiders and leaky pipes. The only _action _around here is when the toilets above us overflow and we have to evacuate before we become mired in a swamp of raw sewage."

"But _this _is where all the action _starts_! Think of it! We get the _small _cases that turn into _big _cases!"

"And the _big _cases go to the guys _upstairs. _Face it Bonkers, the only people dumb enough to willingly commit a minute of their lives to the minutia that the detectives won't touch are the ones who get stuck down here for fifteen years."

"That isn't true!" Bonkers burst, leaping in the air to emphasize his point. "What about that kidnapping case last year? Little Frankie was returned safely to his family after _we _cracked the case!"

"Frankie was a cat, and he wasn't _kidnapped, _he ran away. To the neighbors. Who promptly gave him _back _after we saw Frankie lying under their porch." He tossed a stapler into the box and shook his head. "Face it, kid, big cases never go to toons, because _toons can't – _" He stopped here, sighing softly and rubbing his eyes with his thumb. "Maybe – Maybe you oughta do something that requires a little more creativity, you know? Some outlet for all that pent up energy – or whatever it is – that you got, huh?"

"That's it!" Bonkers cried, sitting back down behind his desk and whipping out a notebook and a pencil. "I'll be a world-weary writer, one whose cynicism is only outweighed by his arrogant ramblings and cognitive dissonance!"

"Yeah. Yeah, that's the ticket," Barney mumbled in what he hoped was a sincere voice as he emptied his pencil drawer into the box.

"_It was 1:23 in the afternoon when I noticed the ring in my coffee mug had turned moldy," _Bonkers rattled off, scribbling in his notebook frantically._ "My partner Barney apathetically threw a box of paperclips into a brown cardboard box in a way that suggested he was weary of the pretenses of Western civilization – "_

"Hey, keep me out of it!"

" – _whilst I, in the throes of existential angst, pondered capriciously on the fact that although I could order a la carte off of any restaurant menu in the continental United States, I could not do the same for my cable channels – "_

"Bonkers."

" – _and suddenly it occurred to me: Why __does__ Christmas effectively start in mid-October for most major retailers?" _

"Bonkers!"

"What?" Bonkers answered with a start, looking up to see Barney standing in the doorway with the box in his hands.

"I'm leaving now. I'll be upstairs, if you ever need me, which you _won't, _because a trained aardvark could do this job. And it's only fair to tell you that that last sentence of yours makes _no _sense."

"It's not supposed to. I'm an _artist,"_ Bonkers proclaimed, arms crossed. "And I'll have you know that some of my closest friends are trained aardvarks. They make _excellent _excavators."

Barney rolled his eyes. "See ya around, kid," he said flatly, turning to leave.

"Wait! Let me help you carry that!" Bonkers jumped up, caught a toe on a rogue seam in the stained carpet of the office, and tripped headlong into a horrified-looking Barney. With a crash, the box tumbled to the floor, spilling its contents and ripping at its seams.

Barney made an exasperated sound and ran a hand over his forehead. "I can't even _leave _without you _breaking _something!"

"No worries, partner!" Bonkers replied, ever cheerful as he scooped up some of the office supplies into his arms and made his way towards the staircase. "We're still a _team_, at least until we get to the top of these stairs!"

Barney picked up the rest of the supplies and jogged towards the staircase. That was about the best reason he'd ever heard to hurry.

His new office – if a cubicle which backed up to a water fountain and an ancient microwave that reeked of burned microwavable lunches could be called an office – was near enough to a row of windows that Barney felt he'd inherited the office equivalent of prime real estate and he inhaled deeply, as though he were in the great outdoors, and smiled as he threw himself into his new chair. He stretched and put his hands behind his head. "Lieutenant Klyser," he muttered with a self-satisfied chuckle. "_Lieutenant _Klyser! Head of the department!"

Bonkers hopped up on his desk, scrutinizing the surroundings as Barney scowled upon realizing that the little orange devil now knew where his desk was. "Not bad, not bad," Bonkers acquiesced, hand on his chin. "That vent is a little noisy, and the cubicle next to you smells like someone threw up in it, and I can hear the toilet flush, and it certainly isn't as nice as the _basement_, but all in all, not too shabby. And now that you've worked _one-on-one _with the resident _veteran _of the toon division, maybe you'll throw him a few big cases, huh?" Bonkers whispered as he elbowed Barney gently in the ribs.

"Not. A. Chance," Barney stated calmly, looking Bonkers straight in the eye.

Bonkers' face fell as he sputtered, "Bu-But we were _partners." _

"_Exactly. _You're a walking disaster!" Barney began putting his office supplies away in his new desk. "Bonkers, you're a nice guy and all, but it'll be a cold day in hell before I hand you anything bigger than a stolen bike case. Look, it's – it's not _you, _per se, it's – well, you're a _toon, _and toons just can't handle complex police work. You toons weren't really made for it, you know?"

"I wasn't really made to sing falsetto either, but I _do _it!" Bonkers protested. He began to pace. "Barney, did you consider that half of the toon division is _made up of toons?" _

"Yeah, well, not for long," Barney muttered, taking out some files and placing them on his desk.

Bonkers' ink ran cold and he shoved his hat down over his ears. "I didn't hear that, I didn't hear that!"

"_Bonkers. _Look, toons are useful for some things. Just not the big cases, all right? Don't take it so hard," Barney urged with a sigh.

"You want to get rid of all of the toon officers, get rid of everything I've worked _fifteen years _for, and you're telling me not to _take it so hard?" _Bonkers cried, throwing his hands up. This exchange was suddenly punctuated with the ding of a microwave. Bonkers' face instantly brightened. "Ooo, my burrito is done!" he crowed happily, jumping over Barney's cubicle wall.

"Typical. That's _exactly _what I mean," Barney said, furrowing his brow as Bonkers almost instantly returned, an acidic-smelling burrito cupped in his fist. "Toons are too…too…"

"Cool?"

"No – "

"Fabulous?"

"_No, _too _erratic. _You can't trust 'em, can't count on 'em to do anything _important_."

"Nothing important, hm? Wouldn't you concede that one of the _hallmarks _of a good officer is razor sharp observational skills? Picking up on small details overlooked by others that could potentially change the direction of an entire investigation?"

"Well…I suppose…" Barney mumbled, scratching the back of his head.

"And what if I told you that I'd just _observed _something important, something out of _place _in our department?"

Barney took a quick glance around him and scowled. "Like what?"

Bonkers bounced over to the windows, pulled up the blinds with a loud _fwap _and pointed to a black sedan sitting trunk-first in one of the visitors' parking spots visible from the window. _"_Observe! _That _car is obviously out of place!"

"We get members of the public coming in here almost every day_. _What's your point?" Barney said with an irritated shrug, pulling his coffee mug out of the box and rising to his feet.

"That's no civilian vehicle. _That's _an unmarked government vehicle!" Bonkers pressed his nose against the glass, frowning in concentration. His curiosity finally piqued, Barney ambled over and took his place next to Bonkers. "Standard Crown Victoria model, black, no customizations. No dealer's name on the back of the car, painted black wheels, a small CB radio antenna attached to the back windshield, and – a dead giveaway – dual exhaust pipes! And why's that odd? Because _that_ isn't one of _our _station's cars. Something's _up, _Barney."

Barney worked his jaw; he hated it when Bonkers was right. "We get visiting detectives in this department all the time. You think toons never commit crimes in other states? Probably just came to haul some loony away for a trial." He shrugged a bit smugly. "See? Easily explained. By a _human, _no less."

"_That's _where you're wrong, partner," Bonkers retorted as he absently picked up a rather risqué picture of Barney's rotund wife from the box, holding it at arm's length and staring at it quizzically. "Toon officers are every bit as capable as the human officers. Who better to understand _crimes committed by toons _than _toons?"_

"Yeah, well, if it were up to me, I'd lock you _all _up," Barney spat roughly, grabbing the picture away from Bonkers and shoving it in the bottom drawer of his desk. "And keep your paws off my stuff. Isn't there a squad car you could be washing?"

"Just give me a shot, Barney! Just one big case!" Bonkers leaned in close to Barney, a pleading look in his eye. "I'll _prove _to you that toon cops are just as good as human ones!"

"Absolutely not. Show me a man who hands you a big case, and I'll show you the biggest buffoon who ever walked the earth," Barney countered through bared teeth in a low, steely tone.

"Bobcat!" a gravelly voice barked behind them. With a surprised yelp, Bonkers turned to find Captain Grating looming over him, his face practically set in stone. "My office. Pronto."

"Even Captains make mistakes," Bonkers whispered with a small laugh, again elbowing Barney gently in the ribs. "Sorry Barney, but it makes no _sense _you being lieutenant. I bet Cap's going to tell me there was a mix-up and – "

"_Bobcat! _Are you coming or do I have to put you in irons? Because believe me, I'd love an excuse," Grating called, having gotten halfway down the hallway before he realized Bonkers was not following. Bonkers immediately rectified this by bounding next to him as they walked.

"Don't take it so hard, Cap. We _all _make mistakes," he said sympathetically, patting Grating on the sleeve. "Why, just last week I accidentally left the cells unlocked, and – "

"Just shut up, will you?" Grating growled, stopping at his door and beginning to open it. "I want you to know, with _every fiber of your being, _that I am _absolutely _set against this, and – "

Bonkers peeped in through the small opening between the door and the wall, and caught sight of what could only be described as a sight for a much-put-upon toon's sore eyes.

"_LUCKY!" _


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"_LUCKY!" _Bonkers cried upon catching sight of his old partner inside of Grating's office, Grating himself having been forgotten. Bonkers immediately jumped in Lucky's arms and began showering him with effusive kisses on the forehead.

"Bonkers! I – it's good to – "

"Oh I missed ya, partner – "

" – listen, could you stop – "

"Didja get all my letters? Postcards? Emails? Carrier pigeons?" Bonkers adoringly clasped Lucky's head firmly in his grasp. "Oh I _know _how busy ya musta been – "

"Yeah, look, sorry about that – "

" – but two partners can _never _be torn apart! Not by distance! Or decades! Or the fickle nature of avian messengers!" Bonkers continued to rant, now patting Lucky's head frantically. Lucky gripped Bonkers' by the back of his uniform and pried him off, setting him gently on the floor.

"It's good to see you again too, Bonkers," Lucky said with a hint of affection in his voice, ruffling the fur on Bonkers' head. "Your…eh, unique brand of enthusiasm hasn't changed a bit."

Bonkers cut him off, hopping from foot to foot excitedly. "So what's up, _Special Agent _Lucky? Busting up organized crime? International espionage? Let me guess – you have _definitive proof _that the governor is an _extra-terrestrial? _I _knew _it!"

"Special Agent Piquel was sent to investigate a case of a _very sensitive nature,_" Grating said, easing down into his chair. Bonkers watched him carefully and tsked.

"An epidemic of hemorrhoids, I see. No doubt of extra-terrestrial origin, thanks to our Governor. Don't worry, Captain Grating, they sell this cream down at the pharmacy – "

"Not like _that!" _Grating burst. He crossed his arms across his chest with a hint of a pout. "And I _know _they sell that cream, but dammit, it just doesn't _work _on my sensitive skin – "

Lucky cleared his throat loudly, sensing the conversation steering in a direction that was perhaps too much information. "Sit down, Bonkers. I guess this concerns you too, in a way."

Bonkers sat obediently, beaming up admiringly at his old partner. Lucky cleared his throat again and clasped his hands behind his back, hoping he imparted some of that 'important-FBI-agent' aura he'd tried so hard to cultivate over the years.

"I'll cut right to the chase. About two weeks ago, Toontown's registrar found some discrepancies in the city's accounting. When she investigated further, she found that Toontown is essentially broke – its coffers are more or less _empty, _and have been for months. Apparently Toontown has been paying its workers on loans from the banks – loans which were never repaid. It's fraud on a massive scale."

"Oh, it's all true! I filed as head of household when Toots is _clearly _the more responsible one!" Bonkers exploded, wringing his hands. "He even picks up my dry cleaning!"

"Bonkers, this has nothing to do with _your _tax returns!" Lucky shouted, suddenly remembering _why _he'd taken a job thousands of miles away from Bonkers. "The tax money is coming _in, _and the bank loans are coming _in, _but the money – no one knows where the money _is! _Made all the more complicated for the fact that the only one in Toontown to really know exactly what's going on – the mayor – has been missing for the past week. The FBI was brought in to not only investigate the _fraud _but also to find a missing person – Mayor Gimblebee _himself_."

Bonkers immediately began shaking Lucky's hand so hard he felt it might come off. "Good luck to you Lucky! Of _course _you'll find him – luck is in your name!"

"Well, that's not all Bonkers. Here, sit down. Look…I need a partner on this case – a _temporary _partner – one who knows Toontown inside and out. So, I was thinking…eh…"

"Yessss?" Bonkers asked, leaning expectantly forward in his seat.

Lucky sighed. "Bonkers, I can't believe I'd ever say it, but…you're the only one who can help me." He looked thoughtful. "Literally the only one. Like _no one else _wanted to touch this case with a ten foot pole, I even asked the parking attendant – "

"It'll be just like the _old _days!" Bonkers cried, once again latching onto Lucky's head. "Oh sure, partner, anything for you! This is _just _what I need, a _big case!_"

"I don't see why the FBI is wasting its resources on this," Grating grumped. "I bet you my next paycheck he's already gallivanted off across the globe somewhere with Toontown's money. Why Toontown ever thought a toon mayor would be a good idea is _beyond _me. All you _really _need to do is alert border patrols in nearby countries to keep a sharp lookout for the guy, and you'll have him – _and _the money – back in a few days."

"Sure," Lucky said slowly, rolling his eyes. "Except we've _done _that for a week, with _no _leads at all." His expression turned darker as his brow furrowed. "No, I think this guy is still in the country – maybe even still in Toontown – and he's hiding out, waiting for something…but waiting for what, I don't know. That's what worries me." He began to pace. "It isn't an inconsequential amount of money, Grating. Throwing that sort of money around on luxuries would get him noticed pretty quick." He turned to Bonkers. "That's why I need a toon on this with me, Bonkers. I need a toon who knows everyone, who knows what's going on in Toontown, who can predict what a toon might do next."

"I know exactly what a toon would do next," Bonkers said somberly, rising to his feet.

"What's that?" Lucky asked hopefully.

Bonkers took a deep breath, somewhat dramatically. "A _toon…_would get some _lunch."_

_...  
_

* * *

_...  
_

"I have to say, my confidence in your detecting skills hasn't improved much over the last half hour," Lucky declared, swirling his straw around in his drink as he and Bonkers said in a sticky booth at a local hot dog restaurant in Toontown, surrounded by other toons scarfing down Big Louie's famous hot dogs like they were the last meat by-products on earth. "Why would Gimblebee come _here?" _

"Who said anything about Gimblebee coming here? I just like Big Louie's, and I was hungry," Bonkers explained. "Fall Apart Rabbit works here, and he always gives me extra relish on my hot dogs."

"Great," Lucky muttered. "So while we sit here having lunch, Gimblebee's out there somewhere evading capture!"

"You really shouldn't get so down on toons, Lucky," Bonkers said sagely as he took a big gulp of the milkshake in front of him, smearing some on his upper lip. "If I hadn't decided _not _be a writer twenty minutes ago, I might have an eloquent argument in defense of toons to give you."

Lucky grimaced sourly. "Any advice on how _not _to think of toons as a bunch of lunatics running amok would be helpful."

"Hey, you're right!" Bonkers' face brightened. "Advice! Isn't that what everyone _needs? _That's _it! _I'll be an advice columnist! An agony aunt! A lone voice of reason in a swampish morass of heated emotion!"

Lucky leaned back into his seat with a tense look; Bonkers was a lot of things, but a lone voice of reason had _never _been one of them. Meanwhile, Bonkers had already inserted himself into the conversation going in at the table next to them, where a female toon sat weeping while an irritated-looking male toon handed her napkins to dry her face.

"_Excuse _me, but I'm an aspiring advice columnist, and I couldn't help but notice your lady friend looking a little worse for the wear," Bonkers whispered to the male toon. "It just so happens I happen to be an _expert _in matters of love." He pursed his lips, deep in thought for a moment. "I think I'll adopt the pen name 'Love Guru' for my advice column. What do you think? Too pretentious?"

"Can't you see we're trying to have a private conversation here?" the toon hissed at him. "You can't just butt in – "

"But the tears of a forlorn lover are like a _magnet _to the Love Guru!" Bonkers protested, turning his attention to the female toon. "What's the matter? Did he break yer heart? Make you cry? Things just ain't the same since he said goodbye?"

The male toon stood up in the booth and hauled Bonkers up to his eye level, with an expression that could melt steel if he'd deemed in necessary. "I said it's _none of your business!" _he roared.

Bonkers tsked, unperturbed by the fact that his feet were no longer touching the ground, and shook his head disapprovingly. "It seems to me that your conflict resolution skills are in need of some fine tuning, my friend."

While that may very well have been the case, five seconds later saw Bonkers with a rather nasty bruise forming around his eye and the realization that a job as an advice columnist might very well not be for him. "Can't blame a guy for trying," he mumbled, clutching his head as the toons behind him made a swift exit.

Lucky chuckled. "An _expert _in matters of love, eh?"

"Oh yeah," Bonkers said debonairly, settling back into the seat and throwing his arm across the back. "It isn't all hand-holding and anvils on the head, Lucky ol' boy. _If _you catch my drift."

Lucky chuckled again a little uneasily, trying to read the look on Bonkers' face. He ran a hand nervously through his hair. "Oh. Uh. I always thought – I didn't think toons _did _stuff like that, you know?"

"Oh all the time!" Bonkers cried enthusiastically. "You remember Fawn Deer, dontcha?"

"Yeah, but – but really, I don't need to know – "

"Well!" Bonkers leaned in with a conspiratorial air, whispering as though he was imparting some sacred secret, "I _kissed _her." He leaned back again, self-satisfied. _"Twice." _

Lucky exhaled in relief and threw him an annoyed look. "Tell me about this Gimblebee guy, and for cripes sake, _focus." _

"Focus! Right!" Bonkers rubbed his chin for a moment, face scrunched in concentration, and then scratched his head with a shrug. "I got nothin'."

Lucky looked incredulous. "Whaddya mean, 'you got nothin''? He's the mayor in the city you _live _in, right? You must know _something _about the guy!"

"_I _voted for Mickey," Bonkers said pointedly, taking a dainty sip of his milkshake.

Lucky gritted his teeth. "Have there been any _scandals – _scandals that were weird enough for even _Toontown _to take notice?"

"Now that you mention it…" Bonkers paused, then shrugged again. "Nope. Nothing."

"Well, glad to know Toontown takes such an _interest _in civics," Lucky muttered. "Great. So we've got no leads, _nothing _to go on!"

"Tut tut, partner dear. _Nil desperandum_. Policework can't run on an empty stomach and leads always come from the _unlikeliest _of places." Bonkers' grinned just as Fall Apart Rabbit placed two enormous hot dogs, slathered in relish, in front of him and immediately began to drool. "Looks great, Fall Apart!"

"Lucky!" Fall Apart cried happily upon catching sight of an irritated Lucky Piquel. "Have you come to prove the governor is an alien?"

Lucky scoffed. "What is it with you guys? You think the FBI has nothing better to do than chase down aliens?"

"Granted, it _is _a pretty important part of what you guys do – "

"Bonkers, we don't – "

"But Fall Apart, something's _up _in Toontown," Bonkers whispered to his old friend, who immediately looked awe-struck. "Something that _may _have something to do with al – "

"Leave _aliens _out of it!"

"_Fine. _That _may or may not _have anything to do with aliens. Mayor Gimblebee is _missing. _You haven't heard anything, have you?"

"So now we're chasing down leads by asking a guy who works in a _hot dog _joint?" Lucky shouted, nearly apoplectic. "Why the hell would he know _anything – "_

"Welllll," Fall Apart interrupted, "A few months ago I _did _see Gimblebee auditioning at Sugarfoot Studios."

Bonkers frowned. "Why would the mayor be auditioning for _cartoons?" _

"_Exactly. _If that happened, _everyone _would know about it. Come on, Bonkers, we're wasting our time – " Lucky said, rising from his seat to leave.

"Hold your horses, Mr. Impatient Patty," Bonkers broke in. He turned back to Fall Apart. "You _saw _it, with your _own _eyes?"

"I _think _they were my own…but I misplace them so often," Fall Apart said as his eyeballs popped out, which he immediately put back in. "Occupational hazards being what they are, I mean. I was working as a prop assistant at Sugarfoot Studios at the time, until I accidentally left the tiger cages open one night and they mauled the 3rd assistant director – "

"Ho boy, I know _allllll _about that," Bonkers chimed in sympathetically.

"My God! Was he all right?" Lucky interjected.

Fall Apart shrugged. "Who can say whether it was a tiger or a 3 week old kitten? Anyway, I was on the soundstage late one night a few months ago, when I hear someone doing a monologue in a loud voice. Did you guys know soylent green is _people? _This guy seemed pretty sure of it. I peeked around the set and saw Gimblebee on stage with none other than Sugarfoot and Ott, that assistant of his, standing there listening. Afterwards they got in a _big _argument – "

"About what?" Lucky interrupted feverishly.

"I dunno. Something about _it was a deal, _and _you can't go back on a deal, _and _I'll break you for this, _and _where are we having dinner because I hate sushi, _and – "

"Wait, wait. Sugarfoot was arguing with Gimblebee?"

"Well, until he got to the part about the sushi, _that _was with Ott, which is _odd, _because they're both cats – "

"Fall Apart, focus!"

"Right! Gimblebee kept saying that _it was a deal, _and Sugarfoot was real mad, and if you've ever seen Sugarfoot mad, well it's – " Fall Apart shivered. "It's _bad, _whatever it is. Gimblebee left pretty quick, and I ain't heard nothin' since then." His eyes widened. "You're not going to take me in, are you? Lucky, I _swear _I ain't an alien informant – "

"Fall Apart, you just gave us our first lead!" Bonkers crowed happily, patting him on the shoulder. "And it's all thanks to you and your inability to hold steady employment!"

"Gee, never thought I'd be recognized for such a thing," Fall Apart said dreamily as he curled his Big Louie's hat in his hand bashfully. "Think I should make a speech?"

"Later, old buddy," Bonkers said as he threw a few dollars down on the table and began to follow Lucky, who had already raced to the car outside and was waiting. "If you think of anything else, call Toots, because I can _never _remember to check my voicemail. Just last week I was called to judge the annual Beauty Pageant for Forgetful Toons, and I forgot to – "

"Bonkers, are you _coming?" _Lucky bellowed out the window of the car. Bonkers threw Fall Apart a last sheepish grin and slipped into the car through the window, clapping his hands excitedly. "Oh boy, out with Lucky on a _case! _It really _is _like old times!"

Lucky sighed and put the car back in park, giving Bonkers a hesitant expression. "Yeah, look, about that – Bonkers, this is _important. _More important than most of the cases you and I ever worked on. So we've got to cut out the wacky toon stuff, all right?"

Bonkers looked confused. "But I _am _a wacky toon."

"Yeah, I know." Lucky ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I have to admit something to you. I – I didn't want this case. I didn't want to come back to Toontown. But since I was the only one in the department with any _experience _working with toons in Toontown, it was assigned to me. Did you ever stop to think about _why _it was handed over to the FBI?"

"Because the FBI is a federal bureau created specifically to investigate and prosecute fraud?"

"No, it's – "

"Because the FBI is often called in when an elected official is suspected of perpetuating fraud and related crimes, because the local police department is seen as being _too close _to the case in question, and thus a federal bureau acts as an impartial party?"

"Well, yeah, but – "

"Is it because you _missed me?" _Bonkers said, batting his eyes.

Lucky snorted. "No, listen. It's because the Toon Division doesn't have a very good track record. You guys are mostly seen as incompetent ninnies incapable of solving even the most _benign_ cases. The LAPD called us in because – because they don't think you guys were _good _enough to get the job done."

Bonkers seemed to deflate somehow. "Well! The FBI will _certainly _get a strongly-worded comment through their website from _me." _He shook his head. "Aw Lucky, it _isn't _because of the toon officers. Honest it isn't. The _best _officers in the Toon Division _are _toons, but the big guys never give us a chance! Guys in charge – guys like _Barney – _don't think we're worth our weight in ink and don't want us doing _anything _on a case!"

Lucky sighed again, touching his hand to his chin. "Well, be that as it may, I'm here now whether I like it or not, and so are you." He grinned. "Let's show guys like Barney what we're capable of, eh?"

Bonkers' face lit up instantly and he grinned back. "Righto, partner! Next stop, Sugarfoot Studios!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

The imposing façade of Sugarfoot Studios towered above Bonkers and Lucky as they stood outside of it a few minutes later, after having been denied entrance to park in the lot itself when Bonkers mistook the diminutive guard – a short toon turtle with an overbite – for a decorative parking pass dispenser and punched the turtle's nose in the expectation that a ticket would pop out. The black Crown Victoria was therefore parked quasi-legally two streets over and they both held out hope that the broken parking meter standing in front of it might be pitiful enough for a traffic cop's mercy. Lucky scratched his head. "Sugarfoot Studios. Geez, I never even _heard _of this place back when I worked in Toontown. When did _this _monstrosity get built?"

Bonkers shivered slightly; there was something about the dark stone of the entrance gate that always gave him the chills. "That's because it's only been here for a few years. Sugarfoot got his start as an extra on the _Woody Woodpecker Show _back when he was just a kid. I knew him back when _I _worked in cartoons, and the guy always gave me the creeps."

Lucky threw him a skeptical look as they approached the guarded gate. "Really? How could you possibly be scared of a guy named _Sugarfoot? _Sounds like the name of a Valentine candy with frilly trim made of buttercream frosting and one of those irritating catchphrases that don't make any sense, like _'Awesomesauce' _or _'Love Means Putting the Seat Down When You're Finished.'"_

"You don't understand," Bonkers said quietly, shaking his head. "Sugarfoot was _ruthless. _He's one of those toons who didn't care _who _he stepped on to get to the top, and never made any secret about wanting his own studio someday – because _then, _he couldn't get fired and thrown off the set like he always did back when _he _was in cartoons!"

"Not that I'm anything of a toon connoisseur, of course," Lucky said as they both flashed their badges at the gate – the turtle gave them a look that could kill but waved them through – and began the trek towards the administration building. "But if Sugarfoot was famous enough to get his own studio, then he must have been some sort of a star, right? And I've never _heard _of him."

"Not exactly a star. More _infamous _than famous," Bonkers explained. "He specialized in _violent _cartoons, more violent than any of those old Loony Tunes cartoons with anvils or mallets, or with Daffy Duck shooting a Nazi in the face, incinerating him and then cackling with an unsettling amount of glee. Problem was, Sugarfoot was sort of like that _off _stage too, and…well, no director wants to deal with a violent star, do they?"

"So how did he even _get _a studio?" Lucky asked, still confused.

"Not sure," Bonkers answered, scratching his head. "But there were always a lot of rumors of _blackmail. _There are some toons who have a lot of skeletons in their closets, Lucky, and they're rich enough to keep them out of the press!_" _

"Hm. You don't suppose Sugarfoot blackmailed the mayor to get this studio up and running and _that's _where Toontown's money went?"

Bonkers shook his head again. "No way! Sugarfoot Studios opened _long _before Gimblebee was in office, and this studio can certainly support itself _just fine _now." He shrugged. "Violence sells. Who knew?"

"Let's get this over with. It would be like Christmas come early if we can get this case wrapped up before the weekend," Lucky said with a small chuckle, throwing open the door to the administration building.

"Say, you ever notice how joyous occasions are always compared to Christmas?" Bonkers mused as they both entered the building. "When someone commits a random act of kindness _it's like Christmas, _when Barney gives me his two-for-one burrito coupon, _it's like Christmas…_" He stopped suddenly, his eyes widening. "That's it," he whispered in an awe-struck voice.

"What?" Lucky frowned. "What, did you think of something? A clue? A connection we hadn't considered?"

"Everything is perfectly clear," Bonkers said in a steady, zen-like tone. "I can't believe I never thought of it before."

"Really? That's _great work, _Bonkers! I _knew _you'd think of something!"

Bonkers' eyes began to tear up as a proud, trembling smile spread across his face. "I suddenly know what I was drawn on this Earth to do!" He made a sweeping, dramatic motion with his hand. _"I, _Bonkers D. Bobcat, am and was always destined to be…a _seasonal holiday character."_

Lucky's grin fell from his face so fast that one could almost hear it clatter to the floor. _"What?!"_

"You know! Seasonal holiday characters! Easter Bunny! Santa Claus!" Bonkers got a moony look in his eye and clasped his hands together excitedly. "I just _know _I'd make a _perfect _spring nymph!"

"Bonkers, we do _not _have time for your – your – whatever this little phase is that you're going through, all right?" He put a hand on Bonkers' shoulder. "We're about to see a _studio head _and just for once, I'd like to _give the impression _that my partner isn't a _raving lunatic!" _

The bobcat was lost in a daydream that, more likely than not, contained visions of sugar plums dancing in his head, so with a reluctant sigh, Lucky sauntered up to the front desk of the administration office and tried to appear more like a competent law enforcement officer and less like a homicidal maniac who was three seconds away from punting his partner clear into the next county.

"Uh – hello," Lucky stammered by way of introduction to the receptionist behind the desk: a gum-popping twenty-something with an apathetic expression and too much eyeliner. Her nametag read _Deb. _"Hello – uh, Deb. I'm special agent Lucky Piquel with the FBI. I need to see Sugarfoot immediately. _The _Sugarfoot."

"Mistah Sugarfoot's not here," Deb said in an automatic tone of voice, which told Lucky that this was a stock answer she always had in her arsenal.

He leaned across the desk in what he hoped was a slightly threatening manner as he pointed to his badge. "I don't think you heard me, young lady. I'm with the FBI. You know, the _Federal Bureau of Investigation."_

"Mistah Sugarfoot's not here," Deb repeated, not looking up from the magazine she was flipping through on her desk.

Lucky forced a chuckle and brushed his nails against his chest. "Look kid, you don't want to make any trouble for your boss, right? Call up Sugarfoot and tell him a _special agent _from the _FBI _is here to speak with him. You don't want to impede an officer in the course of his duties. That's a crime."

"He ain't here, whaddya want me to do about it, eh?" Deb drawled, finally looking up with an annoyed look as she slammed the magazine down on the desk. "You think I can just _conjure _Mistah Sugarfoot up? Like just wave a magic wand and he's here, eh? Whatsamatta with you, anyway? You _threatenin' _me? _Impedin' an officer of the – _look, Mistah Pickle, I ain't here to make your life hard, all I'm sayin' is, _Mistah Sugarfoot ain't here." _She finally caught sight of Bonkers standing several steps behind Lucky. "Hey you. You, orange housecat with a funny hat. Who're you? Whaddya want?"

By this time, Bonkers' eyes were enormous and dreamy, full of either the magic of Christmas or a fairly severe stigmatism. "I'm the candy in your stocking! The warm fuzzy feeling you get from watching carolers! The festive headache you get when Aunt Claire puts too much Bacardi in the eggnog!"

"Oh, thank _gawd!" _Deb cried. She grabbed a plastic badge and marched over to Bonkers, shoving the badge at him impatiently. "Look, they've been waiting for you on set for, like, a half hour. You better get ya buns over there or Claude'll roast _your _chestnuts over an open fire, awright? Go!"

Before they knew it, both Lucky and Bonkers had been shooed out of the office. Bonkers began a strident walk towards the soundstage indicated on his badge when he was scooped up by Lucky and brought face to face with him. "And just _where _do you think you're going?" Lucky demanded.

Bonkers displayed his studio badge proudly. "To the set of _Santa in Paradise. _Sounds jolly, doesn't it?"

"It _sounds _like you're forgetting that we're on a case here," Lucky said through gritted teeth.

"Haven't you ever…dreamed a dream, Lucky?" Bonkers breathed melodramatically, clutching the badge to his chest. "I know you're not so heartless as to tell your own _partner _not to follow his _heart. _Because that's _not _the kind of guy you are. You're passionate and find joy in the hearts of those following their_ destinies, _and – "

"Bonkers." Lucky's gaze turned icy. "The only thing I'm _passionate _about is solving this case and getting back to DC. Got it?"

Bonkers nodded fervently with a maniacal grin and somewhat reluctantly, Lucky lowered him back to the ground. As soon as he let go, Bonkers hooted, "I'm a toon following a dream, Lucky! You can't stop me! Seasons greetings!" and shot so fast towards the soundstage that fire erupted in his tracks. Lucky screamed an obscenity to the sky, deeply offending the sensibilities of a flock of pigeons who happened to be perched on a window ledge, and began to stomp towards the building that Bonkers had disappeared into.

"Typical," Lucky muttered, pushing open a door and striding inside. "Should have _known _better than to get roped into this, why I ever left Washington, I'll – "

"_SHHHH!" _someone shushed at Lucky pointedly. Lucky gave an impatient huff, but stayed shushed. A backdrop of a tropical ocean suddenly unfurled from the ceiling, several very plastic looking palm trees were hurled on set and a ton of sand, courtesy of a dump truck, crashed onto the floor. In less than three seconds, a beach scene – albeit an unconvincing and cheap looking one – was created. Somewhere, a deep voice shouted, _"Action!" _and Lucky's jaw dropped as Bonkers, decked out in an oversized Santa suit, flip flops and clutching a ukulele, was lowered totteringly from above in a cardboard sleigh fronted by rickety plastic reindeer.

Bonkers began hammering – Lucky refused to call it strumming – on the ukulele and proceeded to caterwaul:

"_Let's get away from sleigh bells, let's get away from snow _

_Let's make a break some Christmas, dear, I know the place to go _

_How'd ya like to spend Christmas on Christmas Island?"_

"Bonkers!" Lucky hissed, hoping his partner would hear him and return to his senses. Alas, Bonkers had found his muse and was fully in character as a very ardent (if badly dressed) Santa Claus on a beach. One of the plastic reindeer came untethered from its harness and hung precariously by one antler from the reins.

"_How'd ya like to spend the holiday away across the sea? _

_How'd ya like to spend Christmas on Christmas Island? _

_How'd ya like to hang a stocking on a great big coconut tree?"_

Bonkers continued to make sounds with the ukulele (sounds which could not be said to resemble anything close to music) as he leapt from the sleigh and splashed onto the sand with a flourish, beginning a frantic dance born either of hot sand or zero talent for dance – perhaps both.

"_How'd ya like to stay up late like the islanders do? _

_Wait for Santa to sail in with your presents in a canoe, _

_If you ever spend Christmas on Christmas Island!"_

The plastic antler on the rogue reindeer snapped.

"_You will never stray, for everyday – "_

The plastic beast, with its beady eyes aglow with a glint that almost suggested sentience, began to fall towards the ground.

"_Your Christmas dreams come true – "_

It happened to fall directly on a standing light, causing it to spark and fizzle. Bonkers threw both arms in the air for his big finish.

"_On Christmas Island your dreams come true!"*_

And with that, the entire set exploded into flames.

...

* * *

...

"I suppose if you had _meant _to do it, I might be saying 'Good thinking, Bonkers' right now," Lucky observed as he and a crispy-looking Bonkers sat outside of Sugarfoot's executive office waiting for Sugarfoot to invite them in. "But since you were _entirely _in earnest, I just have one thing to say about this _entire _mid-life crisis debacle – are you _done _yet?"

Bonkers coughed. A bit of smoke escaped. "Actually, I'd say I'm _well _done."

"Honestly. Everything's a joke with a toon," Lucky muttered.

"We _are_ the physical embodiment of merriment, Lucky," Bonkers reminded him, shaking himself off and returning to his normal, orangey self.

Lucky scoffed. "And you wonder why Barney thinks toons can't do policework? _This _is why!"

"Aw jeez Lucky, who said I wasn't doing policework, hm?" Bonkers said, knocking the last bit of soot out of his ears. "I got us in to see Sugarfoot, didn't I? You and me are going to crack the case, just like we always do!"

"Yeah, well I wish I could be so sure," Lucky muttered to himself.

A short, tiger-striped toon cat wearing round spectacles suddenly appeared on the threshold and gave them a nervous smile. "Mr. Sugarfoot will see you now, sirs," he said in a timid voice. "Neither of you has a heart condition, do you? An aversion to loud and violent verbal outbursts? A bladder control issue? No? Excellent! Come right in!"

A moment later, Lucky eased himself down into what had to be the least comfortable chair he'd ever sat in, right in front of a large wooden desk that seemed to tower over he and Bonkers, all the while being scrutinized by an enormous black toon cat smoking a large cigar and scowling at them. "Well, Mr. Bonkers, you certainly made a first impression today," the cat noted crisply, eyeing Bonkers up and down.

"Just wait 'til you see the sequel," Bonkers offered with a nervous chuckle.

The black cat regarded him seriously for a moment, and then stood. _"You're_ a funny guy. _You_ make _me – _Sugarfoot – laugh. You make _Sugarfoot _laugh." He swooped down next to Bonkers and gave him an oily smile that didn't reach his eyes; the familiar creepy feeling Bonkers always felt in the presence of Sugarfoot returned, as though it had been no time at all since they'd last met, even though it had been more than a decade. Sugarfoot made a sound deep in his throat that may have been a laugh or a growl – Bonkers couldn't be sure. "I always said that there ain't nothing funnier than a toon on fire, a toon dismembered, a toon in traction, a toon smeared all over the sidewalk, a toon – well, you get the picture, right?"

Bonkers swallowed hard and sank deep into his seat, not daring to break Sugarfoot's gaze. "Loud and clear," he squeaked.

Sugarfoot stood and walked back behind his desk. "And I always think it's the _funniest _when the toon doesn't know it's _coming." _

"But – gee – w-when we toons don't know it's c-coming, then it actually _h-hurts," _Bonkers pointed out quietly.

Sugarfoot folded his hands gently across his lap. "Exactly," he purred.

Lucky did his best to hide his expression of disgust. While he didn't particularly _like _toons, he certainly didn't derive any joy from actually watching them in _pain._

"On the up side, the video of the explosion has already gone viral, sir," the timid tiger cat offered from the corner, staring intently at his computer screen. "BelieberGurl4Evah calls it _'da funneyest thing I ever saw, lulz.'"_

Sugarfoot gave a forced, unconvincing laugh. "That little dried up piece of vomit over there is my personal assistant, Mr. Ott. Don't pay any attention to him. I hired him because I felt sorry for him. That's why they call me Sugarfoot – because I'm so damn _sweet natured."_

"Then what's with the 'foot' at the end?" Bonkers ventured.

"It's to _crush _you with after I've won you over with my endearing personality!" Sugarfoot roared, slamming a fist down on his desk and rising, his demeanor changing in an instant to one of unbridled rage. "I want you _out _of my studio. You'll _never _work here again, or anywhere _else _in cartoons for that matter!" he bellowed at Bonkers.

"That's ok!" Bonkers responded brightly, digging his police badge out of his pocket and proudly holding it up for Sugarfoot to see. "I already have a job!"

Sugarfoot's eyes widened. "So it's a _sting _operation, is it? Let me tell you something, just _try _to prove thatI've got unsafe working conditions from one lousy out-of-control electrical fire – "

"_Actually, _we're here about Mayor Gimblebee's disappearance," Lucky interjected in a voice he hoped did not betray his anxiety. "We got a tip that Gimblebee auditioned for you here at the studio shortly before his disappearance."

Sugarfoot slowly seated himself again, puffing on his cigar. "That's right, he did. What of it?" he replied with a shrug, as though Lucky's question was the most ridiculous one he'd ever heard. "He auditioned, he was terrible, we sent him packing."

"Well, from our understanding, there was some sort of argument between you after the audition." Lucky studied Sugarfoot's face carefully for a reaction – there was none. Lucky leaned forward slightly. "Something about having some sort of a _deal_ with Gimblebee. About not going back on a deal, about breaking him for this." Lucky leveled his gaze with Sugarfoot's and raised an eyebrow. "Any of that _jog your memory _by any chance?"

Sugarfoot didn't move for several seconds, his face as blank and expressionless as ever. Finally, he put his cigar down. "Let me guess," he began quietly. "This – this _source _of yours is a _toon, _am I correct?"

"We _never _reveal our sources!" Bonkers piped up bravely.

"He's right, we don't, when it might put that source in danger," Lucky concurred in a steely voice. "And I don't see what difference it would make anyway."

"Oh you don't?" Sugarfoot's tone and facial expression became patronizing. "Because it does, officer. It makes a _world _of difference. And I think you know that." He gave Lucky a smugly expectant look. "Don't you?"

Lucky shifted in his seat. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh come on!" Sugarfoot burst cheerfully. "If there's one thing I've learned in this business it's that you can't put much stock in anything a _toon _says."

"But you _are _a toon!" Bonkers cried in protest.

"Sure! But then I _freely admit _that my tooney brethren are morons, cowards and exaggerators. I have nothing to gain by lying. And lest you think me _one _of those morons, cowards or exaggerators, I ask you – would I be where I am today if I were any _one _of those things? I think _not." _He stood and began to pace. "Look, human officer – whatever your name is – your _source _was right about one thing. Gimblebee _did _come and audition. But he was _terrible. _And I threw him out. That was it. That's the whole story. As to where he is now and what he's doing, your guess is as good as mine. But I will tell you one thing, if you spend all your time chasing down leads you got from _toons_, then Gimblebee is as good as gone."

"Hey, a lead from a toon led us to _you, _didn't it?" Lucky spat, also rising to his feet.

"Yes, but a cursory glance through the mayor's appointment book would have told you that he was here in the weeks leading up to his disappearance, correct? And _without _having had your partner blow up a soundstage, humiliate you in front of a studio head and waste an entire afternoon, right?"

Lucky's heart dropped. Sugarfoot was right.

Sugarfoot smirked. "You should be a little more careful in whose opinion you trust, officer. Toons have a _lot _of things rattling around in their heads – the _truth _very often isn't one of them." He turned his back to them. "Ott, show them out."

Ten minutes later, Lucky stalked out of the front gates of Sugarfoot Studios, with Bonkers close behind him. Bonkers had managed to keep silent during that time, but now that they were out of earshot of anyone, he jumped in with, "Lucky, look, _don't_ listen to that guy – every toon in Toontown knows he's _crazy – "_

"He _is _crazy," Lucky said.

Bonkers breathed a sigh of relief.

Lucky shrugged. "But he's _right."_

Bonkers' shoulders slumped. Lucky turned and began the slow lope back to the Crown Victoria parked two streets over. The bobcat watched him for a moment before his face lit up with an idea, and he bounded after his partner, calling, "Say Lucky, let me take you out for dinner tonight, hm? You remember that place over McDougal that served bacon-covered doughnuts and how it used to be your favorite and you used to say that if it ever went out of business then there was no reason to live on the West Coast? Well, it went out of business, but there's this _other _place a couple blocks over that serves _chocolate covered bacon on frosted doughnuts, _and I was just saying to Barney the other day that _my old partner Lucky would __love__ this place _and then Barney said _would he love having to sit here listening to you yammer away about the eating habits of some person you never met _and I said _yes he most certainly would because Lucky has a big heart _and Barney said _I bet he's got a big midsection too if this is the sort of place he'd frequent _and I pointed out to Barney that _his _physique isn't exactly _lithe, _and – "

Lucky stopped in his tracks and held up a weary hand against the rambling onslaught. "Bonkers, please. Look, I'm – " Lucky scratched the back of his head and avoided eye contact. "I'm tired, all right? I'll see you tomorrow down at the station."

Bonkers' face fell as Lucky turned and walked away. "Yeah. Ok. Sure thing, partner," he mumbled quietly, taking off his hat and wringing it in his hands. He squinted slightly in the sunset, threw another look at studio behind him and heaved a sigh before turning the opposite direction that Lucky had gone in and began the trek home.

* * *

***Author's Notes: **_Christmas Island _is an actual song – like someone actually paid to have it recorded – that was written and performed by Jimmy Buffett, who is probably a terribly kind and talented man in every other way.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

"…so yesterday was a _complete _waste of time, and _today _has about as much of a chance of going _smoothly _as the diet your mother put me on." Lucky sighed as he speared a piece of fried egg on his fork and dipped it in a cup of gravy to the left of his plate. "Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to request a partner for this case. Wait, let me revise that: maybe it wasn't such a good idea to request _Bonkers _as a partner for this case." The sympathetic eyes of Marilyn met Lucky's across the table of the greasy diner she'd met him in for breakfast. He gave her a sweet smile. "All the same, kid, I'm glad I got a chance to see ya. Your mom and I miss you like crazy. Haven't you ever thought of…you know..."

She rolled her eyes, a timid smile curling in the corner of her mouth. "Come on, Dad. You know there's no market for animators – "

" – in Washington. I know, kiddo. I know. But it was worth a shot." He laughed softly, a twinge of sadness in his voice. "Look, I want you to follow your dreams, but no matter how old you get, you'll always be my little girl. I just want you to be safe in the big city. And happy. And have enough money to eat and live in an apartment that isn't _condemned _and be able to go out with your friends sometimes and have a job you enjoy and – "

_"Dad." _Marilyn blushed. "I'm _fine_. And you shouldn't be so hard on Bonkers – he's been a good friend to me since moving back."

Lucky raised an eyebrow. "You mean you willingly invite that sort of chaos into your life? Thought I raised you better than that."

She shrugged. "But it's true, Dad. Whenever my clunker breaks down, he comes and picks me up. He buys me lunch when I forget to bring mine. Feeds my fish when I'm out of town. Scares off creepers by pretending to be my overly-protective feral cat with rabies – "

An ear-shattering rendition of the Hamster Dance suddenly erupted from Lucky's hip, interrupting Marilyn into a stunned silence. He clasped his hand to the cell phone there but couldn't avoid the incredulous stares from other customers in the restaurant. Lucky laughed feebly. "It's a classic!" he announced with a weak shrug.

Before Lucky could even get in a "hello" the voice on the other end immediately lit into a tirade that Marilyn couldn't quite make out, but by the increasingly pensive look on her father's face, she knew their breakfast would be coming to an abrupt end.

"Uh huh…uh huh…oh really…yes…yeah, I'll be sure…right…right away, Captain Grating." Lucky shot up out of his seat, the motion taking out half of the breakfast on the table before he realized that he'd used the tablecloth as a bib. "I've got to go, honey," he said frantically, tearing his "bib" away and throwing some money on the table. "The city of Toontown just granted a special warrant to search Gimblebee's office. I've got to get over there and see if any evidence was overlooked – "

"You'll take Bonkers too, won't you?"

Lucky threw his daughter an aggravated look until he noticed the woeful, large-eyed expression on Marilyn's face. He spoke somewhat more haltingly than he would have liked when he protested, "Honey, look. I've got a job to do, and I can't do it with a partner who's – well, who's a few crayons short of the box, all right? This is a high profile case, and – " Marilyn's gaze melted into something that looked to be on the verge of weeping, and Lucky cupped his hands against the onslaught. "Look, Marilyn, Bonkers – well, look, I can't just – " A tear danced on the edge of her left eye and Lucky sighed in defeat. He'd never been able to hold out against that expression on her face; she could have worn that look while asking him to go commit arson, and he would have immediately started searching for the matches.

He ran a hand through his hair and grimaced. "All right. _All right. _I'll call the little hairball and brace myself for the inevitable career-destroying fallout of our partnership. Ok? Now stop that, will you?"

Marilyn's face immediately snapped back to normal and she gave him a smile, pushing her glasses up her nose. "Have a good day, Daddy!" she chirped as her father begrudgingly grabbed his coat and stalked out of the restaurant. She sat back and took a deep, satisfied swig of her orange juice; Bonkers had taught her the Woeful Innocent Expression trick as a kid, and he was nothing if not a good teacher.

...

* * *

...

Lucky knew that his partner had beaten him to the mayor's office as soon as he stepped inside the lobby of Toontown City Hall.

"Barney, you _gotta _let me in!" a shrill, insistent tone boomed from the hallway that led to the mayor's office, momentarily stopping Lucky dead in his tracks. He couldn't see Bonkers, but that voice would be discernible from across a football field of stampeding rhinos. _"Lucky _and I have a _warrant _to search this office!"

"Well, _I _haven't seen it," Barney's disaffected drawl replied.

Lucky took a quick look around and noted without surprise that the city hall of the most chaotic burg in the world certainly looked the part. As he passed, Lucky glanced into the glass door of the records department just in time to see a filing cabinet on the far side of the room explode into a fountain of legal documents spewing into the air, causing the secretaries don military helmets and deploy nets from the ceiling to reign in the rogue papers. In the water and sewer department, five fearless toon workers were busy wrangling a shrieking, green sewer monster who'd come up from the depths through the drain of the break room after being baited (the public works department having gotten several terrifying complaints about the creature), and as Lucky passed the clerk's office, he was glad to see that everything looked relatively normal – until he noticed that the rubber stamps seemed to be picketing around the interior of the office, each carrying a sign that read, "STAMPING HURTS. STAMP OUT STAMPING TODAY."

Muttering something darkly under his breath, Lucky quickly averted his eyes and soldiered on towards the mayor's office, which had its own corridor off the main hallway. This is where he found the mountainous form of Barney Klyser effectively blocking the entrance to the office, which was still cordoned off with police tape. Barney stood leaning against the door frame, a cup of coffee in one hand and a greasy breakfast sandwich in the other; Bonkers, however, was nowhere to be seen.

"Well, where is he?" Lucky demanded, turning in circles looking for Bonkers. "Where'd he go?"

"Beats me." Barney took a large bite out of his sandwich. "Said something about switching tactics - "

"EVERYONE STAY CALM." The piercing cacophony of a handheld loudspeaker immediately made Barney and Lucky clap their hands to their ears. "WE'RE GOING TO NEGOTIATE THIS IN A CALM, PEACEFUL MANNER."

"Bonkers _what are you doing?!" _Lucky bellowed over the noise. Bonkers, handheld loudspeaker in hand, suddenly appeared upside down, hanging by his tail from a rafter above them.

"Lucky! You made it!" Bonkers whispered with a grin. "I think I'm onto something here! Tell me what you think - just _imagine me…_as a _hostage negotiator." _He paused dramatically to let that sink in for a moment. Lucky stared back at him in horrified silence, momentarily paralyzed in terror at the thought.

"Bonkers - " he began when he regained the use of his voice.

"Hush!" Bonkers clapped his hand to Lucky's mouth. "This is a precarious situation that requires the skilled capabilities of an individual with _years _of experience in high-risk negotiation techniques." He pulled a wad of papers out from behind his back. _"But _I didn't have time for that, so I just Googled 'hostage negotiating.' Lucky, what does 'confabulation' mean?" He looked thoughtful. "Is it a compliment? You look _confabulacious _in that sweater vest - "

"Bonkers, may I point out to you that aside from the fact that we're _wasting time, _there _is no hostage situation?" _

"Not true, partner!" Bonkers proclaimed bravely, pointing towards Barney as though he were pointing out a flesh-hungry wild animal they were about to - well, not _kill, _surely, but perhaps one they would humanely tranquilize, transport to a wildlife refuge run by a darling couple originally from Minneapolis who had majored in animal husbandry and 18th century British poetry, and then release into the sanctuary under the watchful eyes of a documentary crew who just _knew _this wide-angle shot would totally blow the film festival judges away. Yes. Yes, let's go with that. "Barney is holding _that office _hostage, and I've got to _negotiate _into letting us search it!"

"Why don't I just show him the search warrant? That I have right here in my hand?" Lucky stated flatly, holding up the warrant.

Bonkers scoffed. "Lucky, it's called _resume building," _he replied, exasperated. "Employers want _real world experience." _

He leapt down from the rafters and stood in front of Barney, consulting the crumpled papers the secretaries in the accounting department had been nice enough to print off for him. "Right. First off, I have to determine if you are hostile." He pointed the loudspeaker at Barney's face. "ARE YOU HOSTILE?"

Barney dropped his coffee down the front of his shirt in surprise and gritted his teeth. "Get that thing out of my face!"

"Definitely...hostile..." Bonkers muttered, making notes on his paper.

Barney began fanning his shirt. "Land _sakes, _what is _wrong _with you?"

Bonkers' face brightened. "You're asking questions! You're opening a line of communication! This guide says that's a _good _thing!" Bonkers cheered. Again he pointed the loudspeaker at him. "THE IMPORTANT THING IS TO REMAIN CALM."

"I was _perfectly calm _until you - "

"WHAT ARE YOUR DEMANDS?"

"I _demand _that you get _away _from me!" Barney bellowed, snatching the loudspeaker away from Bonkers gruffly and resisting the urge to hit him over the head with it. He smoothed his hair back down and took a few deep breaths. Anything that required action on his part - be it chasing a criminal, filling out paperwork, or simply sustaining an energy-sapping emotion like anger - offended his indolent nature and made him long for a nap in his office chair. "So help me, you're _not_ getting in this office, Bonkers," he declared vehemently. "Toons have caused _enough _trouble on this case without one of them being the _investigating officer." _

Resentment instantly rose in Lucky's throat when he caught the small flinch Barney's words had inflicted upon Bonkers, who - even taking all of the moronic stunts into account - had still done more to try and solve this case - or any case - than Barney ever had.

"Well like it or not, he _is _an investigating officer, assigned to this case not only by your _own boss, _but by special request of an agent of the FBI - namely, _me,"_ Lucky piped up, striding over to where Barney stood towering over Bonkers. "And like it or not, I _outrank _you," he practically growled, face to face with Barney. Lucky shoved the warrant into Barney's pudgy palm and watched as the lieutenant's face fell. "Now, if you wouldn't mind getting the _hell_out of our way, Officer Bonkers and I have an investigation to carry out."

Bonkers slammed the door to the mayor's office behind him once he and Lucky were both safely inside and out of Barney's earshot a few moments later, and then grinned broadly. "Lucky, that was _brilliant! _I haven't seen Barney so awe-struck and speechless since they introduced that hot-dog-and-mayonnaise pizza down at the cafeteria."

"Yeah?" Lucky said a little sheepishly. "You really think so?"

"I _know _so!" Bonkers beamed. "Leave it to _my _partner to put that overgrown Twinkie in his place." He struck an impression of Lucky steaming up to Barney and snarled in a faux-brusque voice, _"I outrank you! If you'll excuuuuse us, Officer Bonkers and I have an investigation to carry out!"_Effect thus rendered, Bonkers collapsed in a heap of laughter, pounding on the floor with a fist. "Did you see his face when you said that? Didja?"

"Yeah, well," Lucky demurred with a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck somewhat bashfully. "I guess it _was _pretty funny."

Bonkers wiped a tear from his eye, still giggling. "You know Lucky, out of all thirty-four of my partners, you and Miranda were always my favorites."

"Well, I'm flattered," Lucky laughed softly for a moment, then frowned as realization dawned. "Wait, you've had _thirty-four _partners since I left?"

"Oh, of course not!" Bonkers insisted casually, getting to his feet. _"You _were the first one, Lucky. I've only had _thirty-three _since then."

Lucky gave Bonkers a strange, half-pitying look for a few seconds before seeming to snap out of it. "Well. Well, we - we need to get back to work. Disappearances won't investigate themselves, after all," he said congenially with another small laugh. He put a hand to his chin. "But where to even start? For all we know, aside from the money being stolen, no crime's been committed. Maybe the money is even hidden in this _office _somewhere. Let's see now. The Toontown accounts books have already been examined, and they hold no clue as to where the money really went - "

"Hey Lucky, I've got an idea where to start," Bonkers interjected, holding a grey glove sporting a dark purple splotch on the end of a pencil. Lucky glanced over, caught sight of the glove and dove towards it.

"Don't touch that! It's got blood on it - "

_"Blood?_What, this dark purple spot?" Bonkers chuckled. "That's not blood, it's - "

"It could be Gimblebee's blood! Wow, this could change the direction of the case entirely! This might turn out to be a case of _homicide! _Careful, Bonkers, you might contaminate the evidence, and - " Lucky's rambling immediately stopped as Bonkers clamped a hand over Lucky's mouth for the second time that day.

"Good guess, Lucky, but you're wrong," Bonkers said, pulling his hand away.

Lucky crossed his arms in front of himself, appearing unconvinced. "Oh really?"

_"Really. _You've got to think like a toon! To a _human's _eyes, this piece of evidence points to murder, mayhem, and impeccably savvy fashion sense. But to a _toon, _this glove means something completely different! For one, _grey _gloves would only be worn when you're trying to _impress _someone because grey gloves are _extravagant _- otherwise, a toon would only wear the usual _white _gloves. So Gimblebee was someplace where he was dressed to impress. Secondly, this dark spot isn't _blood _because toons don't bleed _blood, _we bleed _ink." _Bonkers sniffed the dark spot, tasted it, and smacked his lips. "Besides which, this is red wine. And not cornershop swill, either."

"He spilled wine on his gloves. Thank God we were here. What a tragedy," Lucky noted sarcastically.

"He must have been _upset._ Upset and nervous enough to be careless and spill nice red wine on expensive gloves, and upset enough to stick them in his desk and forget about them!" Bonkers continued to muse, beginning to pace on the desk. "They're ruined now and no self-respecting toon would let a stain set in a pair of expensive gloves - unless they were upset about something far more important than _gloves_."

"Yeah, maybe something like being _just_ _about to steal all of Toontown's money? _Of _course _he was nervous. This isn't brain surgery, Bonkers."Lucky had turned and was starting to shift through drawers, looking for alternate accounts books or anything else that might be incriminating.

Bonkers sat down on the edge of the desk in silence for a few moments before whispering in a sing-song voice, "You won't find anything theeeere, partner!"

Lucky gave him an irritated look. "And why's that? Because you can tell his socks were on backwards by the impressions in the carpet? Because the lightbulb isn't screwed in all the way so that means he's in Argentina?"

Bonkers shook his head. "Because none of the places you're looking would be where an upset toon would hide anything! The truth of the matter is, a toon _always _hides things on the _left _side of anything when he's anxious or angry!"

"The _left _side? Look, I'd be willing to go with you on the 'stained glove means he was nervous' hypothesis, but I really can't believe – "

"But it's true! An upset toon isn't in his _right_ mind, therefore, he hides everything on the _left!" _With this assertion, Bonkers marched to the left side of the room and threw open a pair of cabinet doors underneath a bookshelf. "Observe," he said. "The _left _side of the room, and the _left _side of the cabinet. If there's anything hiding in this office, it'll be in there!"

Lucky suppressed a self-satisfied smirk as he peered into the cabinet. "Empty. You almost had me going there for a second."

"Ah ah ah! Remember! Think like a toon!" From his pocket, Bonkers pulled out a toon tunnel – a floppy black disc that acted as a portal through solid material for toons – and grinned. He smoothed it against the back of the cabinet, reached into the portal and after fumbling inside for a moment, withdrew what looked like an old lockbox. Lucky's eyes lit up.

"A lockbox! Bonkers, that's great!" Lucky gave Bonkers a friendly slap on the back – that nearly sent the bobcat flying – and grinned. "Anything could be in there!"

Bonkers set the lockbox carefully on the desk and both of them peered down at it as though it were an ancient relic pulled out of a mountainside. The box itself was perhaps only twice as large as a regular lunch pail, but sported an enormous locking mechanism on the front of the box that was unlike anything either of them had ever seen. The lock had no keyholes or numbers; instead, dozens of what looked like the type bars of an old typewriter circled the gears visible inside the lock. On the right side of the locking mechanism was an ornate letter "C", but other than that, there was no writing – and certainly no clue as to how to crack the lock.

Lucky scratched his head. "Boy, I've never seen a lock like _that. _Looks homemade."

"You bet your fleshy patootie it's homemade," Bonkers replied in an awed voice. "It's one of a kind. See these type bars? They're off an old typewriter, the kind studios used to write scripts, and lookat this letter 'C' – the only times I've ever seen that _sheen _and that _font _was on old movie theater posters, _cartoon _theaters that is. Whoever built this built it to be one of a kind, and to put something very important into!"

"So…how we get it open?" Lucky ventured a beat later. "Having the boys at the lab analyze it and blow it open might take more time than we _have, _and I'd bet my next paycheck that no locksmith in this city has ever seen a lock like _this _one."

"Don't fret, Lucky! Remember the immortal words of our nation's greatest poet."

Lucky looked confused. "Whitman? Frost? Yeats?"

"Vanilla Ice_. 'If there was a problem, yo, I'll solve it?'" _

"Uh, right. Look – "

"You know, Lucky, you can take the toon out of the nineties," Bonkers reminisced with a sentimental look in his eye. "But you can't take the nineties out of the toon."

Be that as it may, Lucky soon made it abundantly clear that time was of the essence, and timely nostalgia had no place on the police force. As if in response, Bonkers whipped out a magnifying glass and a deerstalker hat from behind his back and began to scrutinize the area. He was halfway up the left wall of the room, very near to the cabinet where they'd found the lockbox, when he stopped on a framed animation cell of an ocean scene. Mickey Mouse, holding a beach umbrella with Minnie Mouse balanced on top, looked as though he was skipping across the shore with the water beside them.

He frowned. "I've _seen _that cartoon," Bonkers whispered. His eyes lit up. "Of course! It's an old Disney cartoon! And the song they sang in that cartoon was an old Vaudeville song! And just maybe…" Bonkers slid in front of the lockbox. _"Over and under…" _he half-sang as he depressed the key at the very top of the locking mechanism and the key at the very bottom.

"…_and then up for air," _Lucky joined in, the tune as familiar to him now as when he'd first heard it as a kid at the cartoons.

"Now you're thinking like a toon, Lucky!"

Each giving the other a grin, they both sang, _"By the beautiful sea!" _and together pressed the key directly next to the beautiful 'C' on the right side of the box.

Something clicked within the locking mechanism and the lid popped up a half inch.

"Ha! We did it!" Lucky crowed.

Bonkers gave him a smug look. "Say it."

"Oh, come on – "

"Saaaaay it, Lucky."

"All right, all right." Lucky gave his partner a small smile and a pat on the shoulder. "I'll admit that was...an impressive bit of deduction, Bonkers." His expression immediately changed to one of puzzlement. "But why would Gimblebee leave the police clues as to how to open the box?"

"Lucky, they weren't clues for _us_, they were clues for _him_, in case he ever forgot," Bonkers explained.

Lucky again crossed his arms in front of himself. "Well, then he's an even bigger moron than I originally thought he was. Why would he do that?"

The bobcat stood on his tip toes and innocently asked, "Do you still leave your voicemail password taped to your cell phone battery?"

Lucky's countenance faded. "Point taken."

When the lid to the box was thrown open, both officers looked at the contents quizzically for a moment before Bonkers pulled the only item out of the box – an old, rolled up poster. He unrolled it crisply and frowned. "It's an old cartoon poster."

Lucky looked over his shoulder and mirrored his partner's confused expression. "King…Ring-a-Ding?" he read from the poster in befuddlement. "Who the hell is King Ring-a-Ding?"

The oversized poster had yellowed in age and cracked slightly, but the reds, purples and oranges still stood out in vivid relief. A toon lion with an oversized maw and skinny body grinned out at the world from the poster, holding an old rotary phone receiver to his ear, a mass of green jungle behind him. The font of the letters and the colors were similar to the 'C' on the lockbox from which the poster had come; the poster itself read in bright yellow font:

_King Ring-a-Ding in…__**Call of the Wild!**__ Starts Tuesday, limited run. _

"Why would he keep an old cartoon poster locked up in such a secure location?" Lucky mused, leaving Bonkers' side and beginning to pace. "Gimblebee isn't a lion _or _an old cartoon star, so it can't be him." Lucky's face lit up and he snapped his fingers. "Got it. It's an antique, a collectible. You know what some collectors pay for old posters like that, especially if they're rare? They can go for thousands of dollars, _hundreds _of thousands. And Gimblebee's got that animation cell on the wall, so he _must _be a collector of old toon memorabilia. No _wonder _it was locked up so tight; we just stumbled on part of his collection, that's all." He chuckled in relief. "First thing that's made any sensein this case so far. Bonkers? You listening? You know, when you go this long without making a racket I start to worry – "

"Lucky, I don't think Gimblebee's an animation collector," Bonkers said in a voice that was tinged with anxiety. He turned the poster over and showed Lucky the back. Lucky frowned and struggled to make out the handwritten scrawl there in black ink that read:

_Won't we have some fun, when Toontown finds out you're a One? – K_

"Let me see that," Lucky muttered, snatching the poster and scrutinizing the handwriting. After a moment, he shook his head. "An autograph. So what? It just proves my point: this is a valuable collectible, and with an autograph, it makes it even _more_ valuable. Why wouldn't he want to keep that safe somewhere?"

Bonkers jumped to his feet. "Something about this doesn't _feel_ right. And it's _not _just because this new underwear I'm wearing rides up in the back. The glove, the lockbox, the poster – they must all _mean _something!"

Lucky's forehead creased in a frown and he rubbed his temples. "Look, we're here searching for evidence of wrong-doing. _That's _the case we're here on, not why Gimblebee's gloves are stained or why he collects old cartoon posters."

"Well _I _think it's a lead," Bonkers said resolutely, clutching the poster to him.

"Well _I _think it's _pointless. _And _I'm _the FBI agent."

"And _I'm _the toon that the FBI agent asked to _help _him because _I'm _a toon and he _isn't." _

Lucky's steely gaze held Bonkers' for a moment before he sighed. "I know I'm going to regret this," he muttered. "Ok, Bonkers, let's say this _is _a lead. But who _is _King Ring-a-Ding and what the hell is a 'One'?"

"Haven't a clue," Bonkers replied with a shrug. "But I do know someone who _would _know."

…

* * *

…

"We should have called first," Lucky said nervously as he stepped up to the front door of the bright looking home in a well-to-do neighborhood in Toontown three miles from the mayor's office, Bonkers bounding along behind him. Lucky yanked at his collar and stared up at the portico that stood over them. "He probably isn't even home. Big star like him? Ha!" He gave an unconvincing smile and shrug while stepping down off the porch. "Guys like him have an army of assistants to keep people like us _away! _We're just wasting our time, Bonkers."

"Mickey? _Naaah," _Bonkers countered with a wave, grabbing Lucky's belt loop with his other hand and pulling his partner back towards the door. "Mickey an' me go way back! He'll be _ecstatic _to see us!"

"You said the same thing about Woody Woodpecker. Remember?" Lucky crossed his arms in front of his chest, his expression momentarily darkening. "I spent a _month _in a full-body cast after he kicked us out of his treehouse. _Kicked _me_. _Out of a _tree._ You know. _Several dozen_ _feet _above the _ground."_

"Oh, pish. There's no reason to be nervous, partner," Bonkers explained airily as he rang the doorbell, which played the whistle melody from _Steamboat Willie_. Lucky grimaced. "You got nothin' to worry about. Everyone knows that Mickey's the nicest toon in Toontown!"

"Easy for you to say," Lucky muttered under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously.

"Boy, what could be taking so long?" Bonkers wondered aloud, tapping his foot impatiently. "We haven't got all day! We've got a crime to crack! A nefarious no-goodnik to nab! Dry cleaning to drop off!" As if to illustrate his point, Bonkers began jabbing the doorbell impatiently, creating a shrill, obnoxious whistling cacophony that Lucky felt sure must be the soundtrack of Hell itself.

"Bonkers, stoppit!" he cried above the din, swatting his partner's hand away. "Let's just get going, all right?" He grabbed Bonkers by his collar and beginning to drag him back towards the car. "You said it yourself, we haven't got time for this - "

"Now wait just a minute!" Bonkers wiggled his way out of Lucky's grasp. Bonkers pulled the old cartoon poster of King Ring-a-Ding from behind his back - Lucky had never quite worked up the courage to ask how he did stuff like that - and thrust a finger into it pointedly. "Mickey is the _only _guy I can think of who might know _anything _about what this poster or the writing on the back means. He knows more about toon history than almost _anyone else _in Toontown because he _lived _it!"

Lucky threw up his hands. "Mickey would've had to be _deaf _to miss that racket back there. He's _not _home. Besides, I still say that for all we know, that poster means _nothing."_

_"Or _it could be _something." _Bonkers stood his ground. "Lucky, old cartoon posters mean a lot to toons. Humans have history books and old newspapers and museums - but toons only have old movie posters and cartoon shorts to tell us our own early history! Destroying an antique cartoon poster by writing _this _sort of note on the back - " here Bonkers pointed to the ugly scrawl on the back of the poster " - is _serious! _Lucky, you gotta believe me. It's a _toon _thing. I _know _this is important!"

Lucky sighed. "Look, even if you're right, it's a moot point anyway. Mickey's obviously not home, and - "

_"Hey, _what do you think my doorbell is, hm? A musical instrument?"

Lucky and Bonkers turned in sync to see an irate-looking toon mouse standing on the doorstep behind them, a towel knotted around his waist, soaking wet and dripping soap suds from his ears.

"Mickey!" Bonkers burst, rushing up the walk and throwing a friendly arm around Mickey's shoulders. "Long time no see, buddy! I _love _what you've done with your ears - "

Mickey gave them both an incredulous scowl. "Who're _you _guys? What's the idea of ringing that doorbell like you own the place? Can't a fella enjoy his shower in peace without tourists beating down his door? Listen, Disneyland's _thattaway!" _he barked, pointing off into the distance.

"Mickey, it's me, Bonkers! Dontcha remember?" Bonkers cleared his throat primly. "I made a few of those _public indecency charges _disappear a few years ago?"

Mickey's eyes widened. "Oh. Yeah. That." He put a palm to his forehead, a look of consternation crossing his face. "Boy, you'd think a guy who's worn the same red shorts in public for the last eighty years wouldn't suddenly be taken for some yahoo parading around in his underwear."

Now it was Lucky's turn to clear his throat, which he did with an ingratiating grin. "Mr. - uh, Mr. _Mouse. _I told Bonkers how _busy _you are and how you couldn't _possibly _have time for us - "

"Not at all! Anyone who can keep Bob Iger off my back is a friend of mine," Mickey interrupted, patting Bonkers on the shoulder. He seemed to suddenly pause, mid-expression, and studied Lucky carefully for a moment. "Say...don't I know you?"

"Me? No! No, absolutely not!" Lucky did his best to give an earnest-sounding chuckle. "In fact, I don't even live around here. I mean, I _used _to live here, long time ago, you understand, and well - that is, I mean, I'm on special assignment, see - I live all the way _across the country, _I don't - "

"All right, all right. I don't need your life story there, Dickens." Mickey leaned into Bonkers. "Boy, where'd you pick _him _up?"

"Civil service. Heh." Bonkers caught the deadpan look on Lucky's face and coughed into his fist dryly. _"Anyyyywho, _Mick – can I call ya Mick? – we could sure use your expertise on case we're working on. Mind if we come in?"

A moment later, Lucky found himself sitting gingerly on a sofa that was entirely too whimsical for his tastes. Pictures of toon legends with an arm around Mickey lined the wall, as well as a few pictures of Minnie, one of Donald and Mickey that looked like it had been taking in the midst of a wild party (a pair of pink panties hung capriciously from one of Mickey's ears and Donald looked like he was one margarita away from soaking the room in puke), and a few framed newspaper articles.

"Oh gee Mickey, I'm _such _a big fan of yours," Bonkers was rambling in the doorway of the bathroom where Mickey stood in front of the mirror cleaning his ears with an enormous Q-Tip. "Why, do you know that you and I have _both _done Christmas movies? I just wrapped on a little number called _Santa in Paradise, _and – "

"Hey Bonkers, that's great," Mickey broke in in a disinterested voice. "How about giving me a minute, huh?"

"Sure thing, Mick!" Bonkers bounced into the living room, as light as a feather. "We're at _Mickey Mouse's house!" _he hissed to Lucky ecstatically. "Can ya _believe _it?"

"Look, let's just not take too much of his time, Bonkers," Lucky warned. "He's got to be busy, you know, doing whatever it is that Disney mascots do all day."

"A lot of meet and greets, heh," Mickey replied with a smile as he strode out into the living room, now fully clothed. "Just last week the Chinese ambassador's son threw up all over me at a Disney-sponsored banquet."

"That's too bad!" Lucky murmured sympathetically, in what he hoped sounded like a genuine tone.

"Oh, that wasn't even the worst part. I didn't have time to get changed before my song and dance number. _When You Wish Upon a Star _isn't nearly as moving when its being sung by someone covered in vomit." Mickey glanced at his watch. "I can only give you guys ten minutes. My favorite afternoon cartoon show start in ten minutes."

Lucky rolled his eyes; he should have expected that.

Bonkers obligingly smoothed out the poster of King Ring-a-Ding on the coffee table in front of all of them. Mickey took one glance at it and his expression darkened. He balled his fists. "Gee, where in the world did you ever get something like that?" he demanded.

"You _know _who King Ring-a-Ding is?" Lucky asked, pulling out a pad of paper and a pencil.

"_Know _him? You mean _knew _him. No one's seen that low-down, gosh-darned creep in _decades, _and good riddance! I hope Toontown never sees him again!" Mickey burst.

"Who _is _he, Mick?" Bonkers chimed in.

"Aw gee, I s'pose I'm _gonna _miss my cartoons after all," Mickey pouted, putting his chin in his hands. "King Ring-a-Ding was a cartoon star back in the forties and fifties," he began. "From what I remember, he was first animated in 1948. In all his cartoons, the gag was that he was the king of the jungle but spent most of the time gabbing on the phone – that's where his name came from, ya see – and he never noticed some crisis until it was almost too late. There was a fire in the jungle, or they were being attacked by jungle tribes or big-game hunters, and he didn't realize it until the last minute because he was talking on the phone. Everything always turned out all right, of course – there weren't any unhappy endings in cartoons back then – and he always used the phone to call for help; to the cavalry, or armies of stinging ants, or to plumbers to stop a flood in the jungle, whatever was funniest. Anyway, audiences back then _loved_ it; they ate it right up. King Ring-a-Ding was rich, he was popular, and he was toon royalty – he _knew_ everyone, he was _friends_ with everyone, and he moved in all the best social circles. He was on top of the world!

"Anyway, in the 1950's, the Toontown newspapers began to publish huge exposés on some of the biggest toon stars at the time – all of the _private _stuff that no one was supposed to know about! Lucky, humans like you might not like to admit it, but plenty of toons have skeletons in their closets they don't want anyone to know about, just the same as a human being. There were some toons whose reputations were totally and forever destroyed by some of the stories coming out – and what's worse, not all of the stories were even _true._ Everyone in Toontown went berserk looking for the Toontown Mole, which is what we called the traitor who'd been selling our private lives to the press. The only common denominator was that all of the toon stars being slandered were friends of King Ring-a-Ding. After a lot of pressure, King Ring-a-Ding finally _admitted _he was the Toontown Mole – apparently Toontown newspapers were paying him a _whole lotta _money for juicy tabloid stories about toon stars, and the guy went ahead and told him all of his friends' secrets! And when he ran out of secrets that were _true, _why, he just made some _up, _just so the money kept coming! Heh, Toontown was out for that guy's _ink _after that – they ran him outta Toontown, and no one has seen or heard from him since!"

"Until now," Lucky said darkly, flipping the King Ring-a-Ding poster over and pointing to the threatening message on the back.

Mickey's eyes widened as he read over the text. "Gee," he muttered.

Lucky set his jaw. "It's signed _K – _for _King _Ring-a-Ding! Bonkers, this guy has come _back _to Toontown and has been blackmailing the mayor! _That's _where all the money went!" He stood up. "Thanks for your help, Mickey. We'll get going now."

"Gee fellas, uh, you sure about that?" Mickey shot to his feet, looking a little anxious. "I mean, that's _one _way to interpret that message, of course – " He stopped suddenly, then frowned indignantly at Lucky. "Hey, _now _I remember you – _you _were the officer that raided the House of Mouse!"

Lucky broke into a cold sweat and laughed humorlessly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, it was all just a big understanding – "

"You _raided _the House of Mouse?" Bonkers asked with no little amount of awe. "And you didn't even bring me back a t-shirt from the souvenir shop?

"Well, it – it turns out we were acting on information that – that – " Lucky cleared his throat gruffly, clearly uncomfortable. " – that perhaps wasn't _one hundred percent _accurate – "

Bonkers patted Lucky's arm affectionately. "I had to wait _months _to get a reservation there but you took the proactive route, partner – a battering ram! That's _one _way to get inside!"

"Gee, what was your first clue that the House of Mouse wasn't a secreted drug den?" Mickey put his hands on his hips. "Was it the total lack of drugs? The total lack of customers saying it was a drug den? Or was it the _total lack of evidence?" _

"Look, the department might have gotten a _little _carried away – "

"'_A little carried away'_! Fifty armed guys in swat uniforms rushed the stage during Minnie's routine, put her in a headlock and ordered full-body cavity searchers for everyone in the audience! It was _days _before anyone could sit down without wincing – "

"I think we've already established that it was a _big _mistake – "

"Get out of my house!" Mickey ordered piercingly, already beginning to shoo Lucky towards the door. "That's right! You heard me! Get out!"

Lucky skidded out of the front door under his own power, but threw a scowl over his shoulder and muttered, "'Nicest toon in Toontown' my a – "

"Wow Mickey, it was sure great to spend some time with ya! Think we could do lunch sometime?" Bonkers babbled as he followed Lucky outside. "Anywhere you like! My treat! Eh…as long as it would be within the purchasing power afforded by the salary of a mere _public servant, _you understand – "

Mickey caught Bonkers sleeve and pulled him close. "Listen, Bonkers," he whispered. "About that message written on the back of the poster – "

"Bonkers, are you coming?" Lucky called.

"Just a minute!" Bonkers called back. "What is it, Mickey?"

"Well." Mickey threw a quick, nervous glance at Lucky and then turned his attention back to Bonkers. "Toon to toon, Bonkers. Dontcha _think _that 'One' could mean something…eh…different from what your partner might think it is?"

Bonkers' eyes widened.

Lucky sat impatiently in the car, tapping his forefinger on the steering wheel, and watched indignantly as Bonkers headed back inside with Mickey. "Guess I'm the only one doing any _work _this afternoon," he muttered as he threw the car in reverse and began to speed out of Toontown. Just as he was about to hit the city limits, a sight met his eyes that immediately made him throw on the breaks and stop dead in the middle of the road. Lucky climbed out of the car, squinting in the sun, and looked up at the billboard above him.

A beaming picture of Sugarfoot grinned down at Lucky, along with words that immediately struck terror into his heart: _Sugarfoot for Mayor – Restoring Trust and Prosperity for Toontown. _

Lucky gritted his teeth and muttered, "I think things are about to get _very _interesting around here…"


End file.
